


Cursed Blood

by elliebennett



Series: HP fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Animagus, Animagus Harry Potter, Animagus Hermione Granger, Animagus Ron Weasley, Animal Transformation, Blood Magic, Canon Compliant Up Until Deathly Hallows, Cursed Harry Potter, Curses, Epic Friendship, Friendship, Friendship fixes everything, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, Maledictus (Harry Potter), Maledictus Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant, Referenced canonical character death, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Terminal Illnesses, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebennett/pseuds/elliebennett
Summary: Harry takes a hit meant for Hermione, and is irreversibly cursed as a Maledictus.This is the aftermath.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: HP fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858453
Comments: 48
Kudos: 300





	1. Automatically, Irreversibly...

Harry doesn't even think before he dooms himself. He just does it.

The Battle of Hogwarts rages fierce around them. Voldemort is dead, but that hasn't stopped the Lestranges or the Carrows from continuing to fight and injure and maim. Their wands blaze hot red and blue and green - so much green - but when Bellatrix screams ' _Mudblood!_ ' and throws a curse at Hermione, it is a repulsive, deadly _black_.

Hermione, a skilled fighter and one of the best in the DA, throws up a Shield Charm five feet in front of herself, expecting the spell to block Bellatrix's curse just like it has all the others.

Harry watches in slow motion as the curse sails through Hermione's shield as if it isn't even there.

Hermione stumbles backwards, throws up another shield; the curse, though slowed slightly, keeps racing towards her.

Harry's first instinct is to Apparate to Hermione and Disapparate her away - but Apparition is impossible at Hogwarts, thanks to the wards, so he abandons that idea and does the only other thing he can think of.

Just as the curse is about to slam into Hermione's unprotected chest, Harry yells. ' _Accio!_ '

Hermione goes flying backwards through the air towards Harry, the curse following in her wake like a bloodthirsty hound. Hermione slams into Harry's torso, dazed and confused by the sudden Summoning, and Harry's arms automatically come up around her torso to steady her.

Unlike a normal spell, the writhing black curse adjusts its course in the air, homing in on its target like a Muggle missile.

'Harry?' Hermione asks breathlessly, momentarily taken aback.

The curse keeps coming. Harry realises, then, with a horrifying, sinking finality: it won't stop, not until it reaches its target.

There isn't time for anything.

Harry spins them both around, lifting Hermione and moving her until she is hidden from the curse, protected by his body. Hermione, realising that Harry is using himself as a human shield, cries out, trying to escape his iron grip. He doesn't let her.

Harry tries Apparition one last time, a desperate clutching of straws. It doesn't work.

Harry ducks, pulling Hermione down with him, hoping the curse will streak harmlessly over their heads, but knowing it won't.

He's panicking. He can't think of anything else to do.

The curse hits him in the back, exploding against the middle of his spine and ripping a scream from his lips. His hold on Hermione loosens, and instantly she's pulling herself from his arms and jerking around, frantically shouting his name, her eyes wild with panic. In the distance, Harry hears someone shriek, 'NOT MY CHILDREN, YOU BITCH!', but he can't concentrate past the agony ripping through his skin and flesh and bones. It feels like knives tearing through him, and Harry almost expects to feel the hot slide of blood down his waist and hips. He slumps and falls to the side, only avoiding hitting his head against the hard stone floor thanks to Hermione's quick, war-sharpened reflexes.

'Harry? Harry! _Harry!_ '

Hermione is terrified - Harry can hear it in the tremble of her voice and feel it in the shake of her hands as she touches him - but he can't even summon the energy to open his mouth and reassure her. Everything in him is focused solely on the deep, destructive force slicing through his insides. He can feel it travelling through him, like a shadow creeping across the face of the earth, burrowing into his body and refusing to leave without its prize.

For a second that stretches out into a short forever, Harry is petrified that the curse is seeking out his magical core to consume it.

But then he can feel it: the curse finds what it is looking for. Everything halts, and the agony stops, and for a fraction of a second it really seems like everything will be alright.

Then the burning starts.

It's a shocking, searing heat that scorches him from the inside out. For a wild, frantic moment Harry thinks his blood is boiling, because the scalding burn is so intense, and he can feel it spreading rapidly through his body. His heart is hammering in his chest, and every beat is painful, making the burn worse, the searing poison pulsing outwards in time with his heartbeat.

And then Harry realises: his blood. The curse is in his _blood_.

And that terrifies him. Because if the curse is in his blood, in all of his arteries and veins and capillaries, then it can go anywhere, _everywhere_. His lungs, his heart, his brain - all infected and corrupted and _destroyed_...

The fire screams; Harry does his best not to scream with it.

Finally, _finally_ , the burning begins to slow and then stop completely. Tremors run up and down Harry's body, and his breathing is panting and harsh. He feels sore, achy, drained; he's been clenching his wand so tightly in his hand that it actually hurts to unbend his fingers slightly and loosen his grip. Harry gulps in air, his attention trained on the feeling of oxygen rushing into his lungs, and his ribs expanding with a slight twinge of pain.

It hurts, but he can still breathe, and that is something to be grateful for.

'Harry!'

Hermione is crying. Harry forces himself to concentrate, to focus on his best friend and make sure she's alright. At some point - Harry doesn't remember when - he'd curled up into a foetal position on his side, so Harry tips his head slightly and squints up at Hermione's red eyes and tear-streaked, worried face.

The explosions have stopped, Harry realises. There is no more yelling or screaming, although he can hear crying and sobbing all around him. Bizarrely, there are even a few whoops and cheers, and it takes several seconds for Harry to make sense of the celebratory noises.

It's over. The war is over. They've won.

A small smile creeps over Harry's face, even though he's exhausted and sore and he doesn't think he can move. 'We won,' he says stupidly, unable to believe it, that it's finally _over_ , and Hermione gives him a look that's torn between relief and disapproval and fear, and then it occurs to Harry that it might really be over for him. In a permanent sort of way.

Another tremor streaks through his body, and Harry seizes up, all of his muscles spasming painfully. He clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as he rides it out, determined not to make a sound and frighten Hermione even more.

'Professor McGonagall! Professor, I need help!'

Hermione's high, scared voice cuts through the celebrations like a sword. Everything falls almost to silence, and then someone gasps, and suddenly whispers and shouts and footsteps are swirling in the air around them, and Harry doesn't know what's going on, but he can sense the fear that's stirring in the Great Hall once more.

'POTTER'S DOWN!'

The bellow breaks the peace in two, and then there is a roar of noise and hands everywhere, touching Harry, checking his pulse, lifting him onto a Conjured stretcher. A hand grips his tightly, and warm, shaking fingers brush his hair back from his face, but Harry can't keep his eyes open to see who it is.

Harry tumbles into a darkness as black as the curse that struck him.

~ ~ ~

Once news of the attack and ensuing battle spreads, witches and wizards arrive from up and down the country to help. As early afternoon spreads its warm, soft fingers across the bloodied earth and broken stone of Hogwarts, people appear all around them: Aurors, Healers, a smattering of Ministry officials, some representatives from a couple of the powerful Light and Neutral Houses to arrange for the care of newly-orphaned children. As the day blooms, there are even a small handful of foreign aid volunteers, from France, Germany and Bulgaria, and Hermione's smile is shy and sweet and flattered when she realises that Viktor Krum came specifically to ensure that she is alright.

Ron takes this with about as much grace as can be expected.

Harry sits on the ruined steps of his first home and sips on a truly disgusting nutrient potion prescribed to him by Madam Pomfrey. As he basks in the sunlight, Harry considers the lie he is currently allowing his two best friends to live happily under. 

Neither of them know about the curse. 

As far as anyone except Pomfrey knows, Harry was merely struck by a copycat Cruciatus Curse designed to inflict pain upon him by screwing with his nervous system. As far as they all know, the effects wore off after a couple of hours and Harry is now completely fine, if a little exhausted.

But that is a lie.

Pomfrey had informed Harry in horrified, mournful tones that he'd been struck by a blood curse that would eventually perform a permanent Transfiguration on him. There is no way to fix him, no nice and simple cure - there is absolutely nothing anybody can do to save him, bar making massive medi-magical discoveries and reinventing a whole new branch of magic, so... there is no point getting his hopes up.

Harry is now a Maledictus.

He must simply accept his fate and once again walk quietly to his death.

When Bellatrix had screamed _mudblood_ at Hermione, she'd meant it. She'd been trying to "dirty" Hermione's blood, trying to curse her and ruin her life forever.

And yeah, Harry's life is kind of going down in flames now, but... he doesn't regret it. He'd still do it all again, blood curse be damned.

Some things are more important than cleverness, Hermione had once said. Like friendship.

Some things are more important than his life, too. Like love. And family.

He's finally got love, and family, and happiness. He's not about to let anyone take any of that away, ever again. Even if he has to die for it.

He's already died for it once. A second time shouldn't be that bad.

Even if it is the last time.

So Harry sits and watches Hermione hugging Viktor, and Ron choking on air, and smiles. And he watches Ginny comforting George, and McGonagall herding massive stone statues like a horde of cats, and Fleur helping Molly Weasley give everyone sandwiches whilst Kreacher eyes them suspiciously, occasionally deigning to assist them.

And he watches adults sweeping children into warm hugs and smothering them in teary-eyed kisses, and three Hufflepuffs getting chewed out by their terrified, relieved, loving parents for putting their lives at risk. And then he watches them being led to Portkeys and Floos, ready to go home and be safe and sound once more.

And it's weird for Harry to sit there, and silently watch all of this, and know that there is no one coming to save him, because he can't be saved.

St Mungo's staff race around, handing out potions and vials and waving their wands to bandage wounds or Vanish blood; Harry wishes, just for a moment, that someone could wave their wand at him and pronounce him cured.

But they can't. And Harry can't hate these tired, drained, finally-happy people for being able to stand up from the ground and go home and not have to worry about battle wounds ever again, because they deserve to be free from this war. They all do.

Harry might never be free again - but it's alright, he tells himself. He can still make something of this mess of a life; he can still get a job, and fall in love, maybe even have a family. He can help rebuild Hogwarts and cheer on Hermione when she decides to tackle the Ministry head-on and laugh at Ron every year when he panics about buying birthday and Christmas gifts for the love of his life.

Harry tells himself that he'll be fine - might even start to believe it - because he thinks that he has time.

He doesn't.

~ ~ ~

The curse sets in much quicker than Harry had expected.

It starts when he stumbles one evening whilst climbing into bed, two months after the war ended, and suddenly feels his body begin to seize and contort. A terrible, burning pain sears through him and he collapses to the floor, biting back screams. His teeth maul his tongue and draw blood. His muscles contract and relax against his will, like rapid spasms; his spine curls as he arches off the floor.

Harry wakes up an hour later to discover that he's trapped in the body of a snake.

It's terrifying, being unable to control his own body, and Harry spends several hours that night trying not to have a panic attack when he realises that there's nothing he can do. Eventually, the Transfiguration wears off, and Harry immediately Apparates to St Mungo's, half out of his mind with sheer terror.

It takes a mediwitch almost half an hour to calm him down, even with the two draughts she makes him drink. Harry keeps twitching, shivering, trembling; it's not until he finally accepts that he's back in his own body that he can begin to function normally again.

He spends the rest of the night at the hospital, but it yields nothing. He hears more of the same thing: he's a Maledictus, his blood is cursed, there's nothing they can do. Symptoms will gradually get worse over time, until eventually one day they'll consume him altogether.

Harry asks if he'll retain his consciousness and higher cognitive functioning when he eventually becomes a snake permanently. The Healers don't know.

That terrifies him: the unknown. Harry could deal with this a little better if he knew what to expect, but he doesn't, and that leaves his brain with plenty of fiery fuel for his nightmares.

Harry goes home at 5:47am to the cold, dark rooms of Grimmauld Place. He stares at himself in the bathroom for a long time, a chill spreading over his skin and bumping his flesh when he realises that one day he'll never have this face again.

One day he'll lose his father's messy black hair, and his mother's green eyes, and his own pale skin and lightning bolt scar.

He cries.

~ ~ ~

The Healers at St Mungo's tell him that a Maledictus usually becomes permanently Transfigured around the age of forty. Harry takes a deep breath and tells himself that's alright - another twenty or so years is actually pretty good - even as a cold pit bottoms out in his stomach, because that means he's already halfway through his life.

Harry spends July trying to do absolutely everything he can: visiting Charlie's dragon reserve in Romania, exploring France and Australia with Hermione and Ron, playing with Teddy and buying him lots of toys he probably doesn't need. He helps rebuild Hogwarts, and visits the Thestrals and Hagrid, and even goes house hunting (although he doesn't buy anything).

Harry knows his friends pick up on his odd new behaviour, and that his sudden enthusiasm to do absolutely everything is a little bizarre, but everyone waves it off as post-war euphoria and Harry simply being delighted at finally being free from the chains of life as the 'Chosen One'.

It's a plausible excuse, and there are plenty of people bouncing through life after Voldemort's defeat, but Harry still feels guilty about deceiving his friends. He just can't bring himself to ruin this newfound happiness of theirs, especially when his deadline is decades away. He's still got time. He'll wait a few years, give everyone a chance to recover and live a little... they deserve a few years of stress-free peace, after all. Harry can't take that away from them. Plus, he's fine most of the time, and there's nothing anyone could do, anyway. Not even Hermione could solve this.

The day before his eighteenth birthday, Harry collapses and wakes up on the floor of his kitchen, trapped in the body of a snake.

It only gets worse after that.

~ ~ ~

Time between the forced Transfigurations gets shorter. At first, there is a grace period of two months, then one month, then every couple of weeks. By December Harry is suffering from his eleventh forced transformation, and whilst the pain of changing has gotten bearable, the length of time that he remains trapped as a snake has grown progressively longer.

Harry spends the entirety of New Year's Eve and New Year's Day as a snake against his will.

When he transforms again just eleven days later, he's stuck as a snake for three whole days.

And when he eventually changes back, he doesn't change back completely.

Harry stares at the patches of glossy black scales covering the backs of his forearms and wishes he could rip them out.

~ ~ ~

After shiny scales start appearing in patches all over his body - ankles, hips, lower back - Harry's taste buds start changing. His tongue gets a little thinner, a little more pointed. He hopes with every fibre of his being that it won't split and develop a fork. He still hasn't told anyone - they're all so _happy_ , he can't ruin that - but hiding his terminal condition is becoming increasingly difficult.

Winter weather gives him the excuse to wear long sleeves constantly. He doesn't get back in a relationship with Ginny, and doesn't sleep with anyone else (who would want to have sex with a scaled _freak_?), despite the hordes of witches and wizards that throw themselves at their "Saviour's" feet.

The mediwitch that's assigned to his case on a long-term basis is sworn to secrecy by magical oath. One of the first things she tells him after he collapses for the third time in January is that his condition is advancing far too quickly to be normal.

 _Perhaps Bellatrix's curse was exceptionally potent_ , she says on the twenty third, whilst all the Weasleys are at a Quidditch match. _Perhaps the curse is feeding on your unusually large reserves of magical power_. Either way, his life expectancy gets torn to shreds.

 _Forget your twenty year deadline_ , she tells him in February, on Valentine's Day, whilst Ron and Hermione are on a date in Paris. _You've got less than two years left_.

 _I'm sorry_ , she says, whilst Harry stares at her in numb horror on the first of March. _I don't think you'll make it to next Christmas_.

It's Ron's birthday. Harry should be out celebrating with his best mate, eating cake, throwing a party. Instead he's sitting in the cold light of a hospital room at seven o'clock in the morning, listening in silence as he's handed a death sentence.

He should be happy. He should be free. Instead he's alone on a hard metal chair, gripping a quill tightly with a hand that shakes and is covered in scales, and writing his will.

He leaves everything he owns to Ron, Hermione and Teddy. He wonders how he's supposed to tell his family that he's not going to be a part of their beautiful, bright future.

He wonders how he's supposed to tell himself that it'll be okay.

Harry goes to the surprise party Hermione and Molly throw for Ron. He pulls party poppers, even though his hands tremble. He eats cake, even though it tastes like ash. He sings _Happy Birthday_ and cheers for Ron even as tears clog his throat and make it painful to speak.

And then he goes to his parents' grave, and stares at the spot next to theirs, and wonders for the first time if he should buy a headstone and coffin, to save everyone else the horror of having to do it.

That thought makes him rush home to vomit.

Six days later he collapses again.

~ ~ ~

On the first of April, there's a memorial ceremony for Fred. Harry sits in the audience with tears streaming down his face and realises with an icy, sinking horror that next year, there'll be a memorial ceremony for _him_.

He can't bring himself to smile or laugh for days afterwards. Especially when he has to start wearing gloves to hide his scaled hands, and has to cast warming charms on all his clothes.

He feels cold, now, all the time.

~ ~ ~

On the fourteenth of April Harry collapses and spends nearly five days as a snake. When he changes back, the world is a mess of grey.

He can't see colours any more.

~ ~ ~

He asks the Mediwitch about the life expectancy of a snake, once. She tells him in a soft, sorry voice that he'll likely only live a couple of years. Snakes don't live nearly as long as humans.

He's already an adult, after all. He's burned through most of his years already.

He'll be a snake for a year, maybe two. Three if he's lucky.

He doesn't feel lucky.

~ ~ ~

On the twentieth of April, Harry loses his mother's eyes forever.

He hates the black irises that stare at him from the mirror almost as much as he hates his sleek forked tongue.

~ ~ ~

On the last day of April, Ron visits him to catch up. They haven't seen each other since Fred's memorial. Harry told everyone he was "travelling Europe". In reality, he spent half of April as a snake.

As Harry takes a seat on the sofa furthest from Ron - so he won't see Harry's black irises, or forked tongue, or notice that he's wearing gloves indoors, or that he's grown his hair out to hide the scales creeping up the back of his neck - he decides that he needs to tell Ron, before he loses that option completely. Ron would never forgive him if he didn't find out until it was too late - will already be furious that Harry's hidden this for so long - and Harry needs the chance to say goodbye. He doesn't know if he'll lose his memories and consciousness when the curse takes over completely, but if his increasingly serpentine physiology is any indication, his chances aren't good.

At least he hasn't lost his mind yet.

_(Yet.)_

'How are you?' Harry asks, stalling. He can feel anxiety and a hint of dread pooling in his gut.

'I'm great, thanks,' Ron says cheerfully. He grins at Harry, so _happy_ , so carefree. For a moment Harry is blindingly jealous. 'D'you know we got put on the chocolate frog cards?'

Ron's delight at this achievement makes Harry crack a smile for the first time in weeks. Ron's world has always been simple and easy-going; the silly little things are usually enough for him to keep moving forwards.

Harry wonders what his life would've been like if Bellatrix's curse had missed. If he'd have been happy, too.

Just as Harry opens his mouth to blurt everything out, and tell Ron the awful, awful truth, Ron says something that makes his entire world stop.

'Hey, um, Harry?' Ron asks hesitantly.

'Yeah?'

'D'you think, um...' Nervous excitement dances across Ron's face. 'Well, you see... things are going pretty great with Hermione...'

'That's good...?'

'Yeah, yeah, and I just thought...' Ron gives Harry a painfully hopeful look. 'D'you think maybe I could marry her?'

Harry's heart stops.

'I mean, obviously not right now, it's probably way too early,' Ron says quickly, laughing nervously, 'but I just thought... you know, she makes me really happy, and, well... I think she's the one, you know?'

Harry can't speak. Can't think.

'I really think I could marry her,' Ron says, and it's with a shy, bashful joy that Harry's never seen on his best friend before. 'I think... I think I'm gonna ask her. Maybe next year. Is twenty too young to get engaged? We could always wait a few years to get married, of course... I just... I see Bill and Fleur together, and they just... fit, you know? And I think, I think maybe Hermione and I could do that too.'

Ron gives Harry a thrilled, anxious look, waiting for his opinion, and Harry swallows harshly.

'I think so too,' Harry chokes out quietly. 'That's great, Ron.'

'Really?' Ron's smile splits his face like the sun spilling across the midnight sky at dawn and painting the world in colour. Harry hasn't seen colours for weeks now, but even he can recognise the pure joy that sparks inside of his best friend.

This is what Harry wants. He wants his best friend to be happy. So why does it hurt so much?

'I'm happy for you,' Harry says, and it's both a truth and a lie all at once.

He never mentions the black scales that now cover the entirety of his back, or the way he can taste the scent of Ron in the air, or the fact that his bright Weasley hair looks like a dull, flat grey.

~ ~ ~

Harry's ears are a little smaller than they used to be. His nose is slightly flatter.

He starts having new nightmares about Voldemort and Nagini.

He dreams that he becomes them.

~ ~ ~

On the second of May, there is a large memorial held at Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall leads the ceremony, and Neville gives a heart-wrenching speech about bravery, loyalty and sacrifice. A statue to commemorate those that gave their lives is unveiled, and McGonagall reads all of the fifty seven names carved into it with tears in her voice.

Harry's name is on the statue.

~ ~ ~

After the memorial, Harry stands with Andromeda for a while, rocking Teddy gently in his arms and wishing so desperately that he could see the colour of Teddy's hair. Andromeda is quiet, the fingers of her left hand wrapped around a locket that Harry knows contains a photograph of Tonks and Remus holding Teddy the day he was born.

Teddy, who had been fast asleep, suddenly stirs. Harry shushes him, whispering gentle nonsense to his godson, and has to swallow down a sob when he realises that he'll never get to see Teddy grow up.

' _Da,_ ' Teddy says suddenly, his wide, innocent eyes fixed on Harry's, and Harry feels his whole world implode.

Andromeda sucks in a startled gasp.

Tears spill down Harry's cheeks as he looks at this baby boy that he loves so much, who gazes back up at him with such utter trust and contentment.

It strikes Harry like a knife when he abruptly realises that Teddy is about to lose a second father. Harry is about to be ripped from Teddy, just like Sirius was, like his parents were, and Harry...

Harry can't do anything about it - can't do anything but leave this beautiful, smiling child alone.

Harry cries, and he doesn't care that everyone sees.

~ ~ ~

Harry spends the rest of the second of May inconsolable with grief - for everyone he's lost, and everything's he about to lose.

On the third of May, a year and a day after he was first cursed, Harry owls Ron and Hermione - who are staying at the Burrow - and asks them to visit him as soon as possible.

They arrive at three o'clock the same day.

'Is everything alright, Harry?' Hermione asks the second she steps through the Floo. 'I know you were... upset yesterday. Are you... are you feeling okay?'

Harry opens his mouth to lie, as he has been doing for the past year, and then stops, and meets Hermione's concerned gaze.

'No,' he says simply, and feels his posture slump tiredly.

'Mate, what's wrong?' Ron asks, frowning down at where Harry has collapsed against the cushions of his sofa, his entire posture defeated.

For a second, Harry thinks maybe he shouldn't say it. He thinks maybe he should let them keep living their happy lives. Then he thinks that Hermione would probably kill him herself if he allowed himself to die without telling her what was wrong - and there's still a good chance he'll get verbally shredded for keeping the secret this long.

'I'm sick,' Harry says quietly, and all of the happiness is sucked from the room, as if by a Dementor.

'Sick?' Ron repeats, and his voice wobbles slightly. '...How bad?'

Harry swallows. His throat feels tight. 'Bad,' he says softly. He can't meet their eyes. 'Really bad.' Even to himself, he sounds choked.

Ron and Hermione stand frozen in the middle of his living room.

'What is it?' Ron asks apprehensively, sounding almost like he isn't sure he wants to hear how bad this news is. He sounds scared. '...Dragonpox? Spattergroit?'

Harry's finding it harder and harder to breathe.

'Curse,' he whispers. 'Irreversible.'

There's a moment of horrified silence, and then Hermione suddenly jerks as if someone slapped her. All of the colour drains from her face.

' _Bellatrix,_ ' she breathes out, her eyes widening and filling with tears. She looks sickly pale, like there is no blood in her face at all. For a second Harry thinks she might be in danger of fainting.

Ron clearly shares this fear, because he coaxes Hermione into the nearest chair and sits beside her, rubbing her back comfortingly. Hermione looks dazed, almost concussed, as she sits, momentarily stunned, on the sofa.

'Can't the Healers do anything?' Ron asks, a touch desperately, but he already knows the answer. He just doesn't want to hear it.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, feeling his hands begin to tremble minutely. He needs to stay calm. Everything will be so much worse if he breaks down completely.

' _Harry,_ ' Hermione whispers, her voice close to breaking, and then she flies out of her seat and launches herself at him, arms wrapping around him in a hug so tight and desperate that it reminds him of how he'd held her, a year ago, as he put himself between her and danger to keep her safe.

Harry's arms come up around Hermione automatically. He can feel her shaking, and hear soft sobs that she tries to muffle, and soon he is fighting back tears as well. He glances nervously at Ron, who is watching them both with suspiciously red eyes.

'Harry,' Ron says gruffly, 'we're here for you. We'll... we'll figure something out. If we can rob Gringotts and kill Voldemort, we can find a cure. Something. We can do... _something_.'

Ron is equal parts determination and terror, just like Harry was when he first found out. _Denial,_ Harry suspects. But who can blame Ron for wanting to deny the idea that he'll have to lose his best friend?

'What is it?' Hermione eventually asks, her cheeks and nose red and her eyes still glistening as she pulls back and sits beside him, their shoulders brushing.

'Blood curse,' Harry chokes out, the words like bullets in his mouth, hard and bitter and fatal. 'I'm... I'm...'

He can't say it. He can't.

Instead he pulls off his gloves, revealing the backs of his hands, which are covered in shiny black scales. Hermione's hand flies to her mouth, and Ron looks horrified.

'A Maledictus,' Hermione says, and it's not a question. When Ron realises what Hermione just said, he turns even paler.

For the first time, Hermione seems to notice the other changes in Harry's appearance. Her eyes lock with his own, now impossible to tell where the pupil ends and his iris begins. Her gaze drifts down to his neck, which is wrapped with a scarf despite it being the start of summer, and then she frowns at his slightly flattened nose and longer hair.

'Which animal...?' She asks uncertainly.

'Snake,' Harry admits uncomfortably.

Hermione takes a moment to breathe and pull herself together. 'Okay,' she says, visibly trying to calm herself. 'How long have you known? When did the symptoms start?'

'My first forced transformation was June last year,' Harry confesses, and for a second Hermione's eyes flare with anger and betrayal. She looks like she wants to yell at him, but she stops herself and reigns her temper and indignation in.

'How much longer do the Healers think you have? Two decades? Three?' she guesses, then stops suspiciously. 'You _have_ been seeing a Healer, right Harry?' she asks sharply.

Harry nods, and then winces. It takes deliberate effort to force his next few words out.

'...A couple-' Harry chokes, his voice faltering as he tries desperately to clamp down the rising swell of leaden despair in his chest and the hot tears in his eyes.

'A couple of Healers? Well.' Hermione straightens up, forceful cheer on her face. 'I'm sure they're very knowledgeable, and looking for a cure, and plenty of discoveries can happen-'

'Months,' Harry interrupts painfully.

'A couple of _months_?' Ron demands disbelievingly. He looks like he wants to either puke or hit something.

Hermione has turned sheet white. 'But...'

'It's advancing faster than it's supposed to,' Harry explains dully, all hope stripped from his voice. 'At first I was supposed to live to forty, but...' He forces a breath into his lungs. 'Now I won't make it to twenty.'

Silence.

There's something pitiful and broken in Harry's voice when he says a touch desperately, 'I was supposed to have _time_.'

'No,' Hermione whispers, her voice almost begging. ' _No_.'

 _Denial,_ Harry knows. He remembers the feeling.

It'll be even worse when they realise that there's no hope left at all.

~ ~ ~

Hermione starts coming with Harry to all of his appointments at St Mungo's. She makes a list of all of Harry's symptoms, and when she discovers that he's been colourblind for nearly a month, dives into a researching frenzy. Two weeks later, she reappears from her frantic search, clutching a battered book with fierce determination.

'There isn't a spell to fix your eyes,' she announces stubbornly, 'but there's a potion.'

Hermione takes the book and marches off to visit Horace Slughorn with an attitude like a tornado. She returns three days later clutching a large flask that, to Harry, is seven different shades of grey.

Harry downs it, and then he _sees_ again.

It's not perfect - the world is definitely more muted than before - but he can see the light orange of Ron's hair, and the warm brown of Hermione's eyes, and the pale pink in Teddy's cheeks.

He's so grateful he cries.

When Harry's hearing starts to deteriorate a few weeks later, Hermione is there again, questioning every Healer in St Mungo's and then vanishing behind a stack of books taller than her. She even takes a trip to Hogwarts to ransack the Forbidden Section. Ron, meanwhile, is dispatched to question everybody from Neville Longbottom to Madam Pomfrey on anything they might know. Neville doubtfully suggests a rare Chinese plant found in the province of Qinghai; Pomfrey gives Ron the name of a Mediwizard Specialist in France, and another in Egypt.

Harry keeps attending his appointments, even though he's starting to find them depressing and mostly useless. Neither he nor Hermione comment on the fact that the ward he visits is the palliative care ward. Hermione merely purses her lips and glares at the sign, as if daring it to try and cross her.

Harry starts to hear a lot of phrases like "quality of life" and "minimising suffering". They make him feel sick. He keeps going, though, because Hermione is blazing a path ahead of him and he has no choice but to follow. He's never seen her display such single-minded focus before, and it's both impressive and scary. The staff at St Mungo's learn not to tell Hermione "that's not worth it" or, Merlin forbid, "that's impossible". They do not appreciate being in her warpath, or having her prove them wrong.

Eventually, a combination of Hermione's sheer willpower and one of the St Mungo's Healers' knowledge of auditory magic manages to produce a spell that, whilst it won't restore much of the hearing Harry has already lost, will prevent further deterioration.

Harry can't hear high frequencies now. Low frequencies are fine, and he can still understand most speech perfectly well, but when the kettle in the Burrow's kitchen starts to shriek, Harry can't really hear it.

Ron tells him to look on the bright side: at least he won't have to listen to Walburga Black's portrait screeching bloody murder anymore.

Harry smiles. It's small, but it's there, and that's what counts.

~ ~ ~

Things are finally starting to seem manageable when Harry collapses again.

He spends the entire first week of July slithering around Grimmauld Place. At first, it's almost amusing, because his large, dark serpentine form scares the absolute pants off Ron, but as the days drag by Harry becomes at first bored and then increasingly worried. By the sixth day he is scared, and on the seventh he is panicking.

He spends a horrible evening convinced that he'll never change back.

When he eventually transforms back into his own body again, Harry is shaking. Hermione wraps him in a blanket and gives him a fierce hug whilst Ron vanishes for two hours and returns with boxes of his and Hermione's belongings floating behind him.

'We're moving in with you,' Ron tells him unceremoniously, before striding away to pick out a bedroom from the many dusty rooms of the ancestral Black family home.

'Hermione...' Harry whispers, his voice breathless with shock. 'I can... I can _see in the dark_. I can see _heat_ at night. When I'm a snake.'

Hermione frowns. 'You must have pit organs,' she says slowly, 'but they're only found in pythons, vipers and boas...' She's been researching snakes so much recently that she could probably give a lecture on them. 'Have you not always been able to do that?'

'No.'

'Maybe you're... still developing,' Hermione suggests cautiously, 'in both your human and animal form.'

'It's really weird. I can... turn it on and off.'

'I think that's unique to you,' Hermione says, frowning and glancing at one of her many books on snakes.

Harry looks down at his hands, the palms of which have now developed smaller, creamy scales. He lifts his shirt, and discovers that his entire torso is completely covered.

The scales on his stomach are red.

~ ~ ~

'I think you're a magical species similar to a red-bellied black snake,' Hermione tells him, peering at a large Muggle book filled with hundreds of types of snakes.

Ron leans over her shoulder, reading for a minute. Then he straightens up and snorts.

'Congratulations,' he tells Harry sarcastically, 'you're poisonous.' Ron gives him a teasingly stern look. 'Bite me and I'll flush you down the toilet.'

Harry laughs.

~ ~ ~

Harry has to stay in direct sunlight, near a fire or wrapped in warming charms all the time, now. As well as his low body temperature, he's also developed the ability to see in the dark, and he can sense vibrations with much greater sensitivity that he could before. This is both a blessing and a curse.

He also finds extremely processed foods nauseating. In fact, he's beginning to develop a disturbing taste for meat - particularly _rare_ meat.

When Hermione notices this, she looks mildly concerned. When Ron notices this, he says nothing for a moment, then crosses his arms casually and declares:

'Shame Pettigrew is dead. You could've eaten him.'

Ron uses his hands to mime one chomping the other.

Hermione glares at him. Harry rolls his eyes.

'I could always eat _you_ ,' Harry says playfully, and it's the first time he's ever joked about his condition. It feels _good_ , almost. Like it has no power over him. Like _he's_ the one in control.

'Mate, if you even try...' Ron waves his fork around faux-threateningly. 'I will stomp on you. Or feed you to Buckbeak.'

It's all a stupid joke, but something awful occurs to Harry: when he eventually changes for good and loses himself to his snake form... he's going to become a danger to Ron and Hermione. To everyone.

Images of Nagini attacking Arthur and Snape flash through his mind. He nearly throws up.

 _I would never do that!_ He wants to shout.

He might not. But a snake would.

~ ~ ~

'We don't know for sure that you'll actually... _die,_ ' Hermione broaches cautiously over tea one night after dinner. Harry is wrapped in a thick blanket. 'You'll be in the body of a snake, yes, but you'll still have your mind, your consciousness-'

'Hermione,' Harry says bluntly, stamping down on the traitorous wisp of hope that wants to rise up within him, 'I'll be Transfigured into a snake. Completely. If my skin and blood and eyes all get changed, why wouldn't my brain be changed too?'

Hermione bites her lip, looking crestfallen. 'You might still be okay,' she protests softly, but it's a weak argument and they both know it.

'How?' Harry asks, careful to keep his voice calm. 'I'm going to have a tiny little snake brain. I probably won't remember anything from my previous life. I'll probably not care about anything other than food or sleep. I might even be mindless altogether, with no self-awareness.' Harry sighs. 'I know I won't technically die, Hermione, but... for all intents and purposes, I will have. I probably won't even know my own name.'

Hermione spends two days studying snake anatomy and neurology, attempting to find hope that simply isn't there. Harry lets her do what she feels she needs to do. He's well aware that he's not the only one suffering here, despite what he might sometimes feel.

 _Snake brains are tiny,_ Harry thinks to himself miserably as he nibbles on a slice of raw ham. How on Earth is a person supposed to fit in there?

'But maybe with magic...' Hermione says hopefully a few days later, before she abandons her current train of thought in favour of another one. 'Oh,' she says.

'What?'

Hermione looks at him, her eyes alight with hope. 'Can you do wandless magic?' she demands excitedly.

'No...' Harry says slowly, confused.

'You'll have to learn,' Hermione says firmly. 'We'll practice as much as we can, every day.'

Ron looks aghast at the idea of so much extra work. Although it might just be because Hermione used the word "we".

_'Why?'_

'Because you'll still be a magical snake!' Hermione says enthusiastically. 'You'll still have your magical core!'

Oh.

This is why he loves his friends.

'You think I could do magic?'

'Well, I certainly don't see why not,' Hermione declares triumphantly.

And so the magic lessons begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would be willing to leave a comment, it would mean the world to me! ^-^


	2. ...But Without Regret

'Do you think Professor McGonagall would give us extra lessons?' Hermione asks thoughtfully as she digs through boxes of her old things, searching for her first year textbooks and reams of notes.

'I bloody hope not,' Ron mutters under his breath.

'I think I'll ask her,' Hermione says decisively, 'and perhaps Professor Flitwick as well. He was always rather brilliant.'

'Hey, maybe McGonagall'll be able to help you,' Ron says suddenly to Harry, 'y'know, 'cause she's a cat.'

Hermione looks rather doubtful about this suggestion. Harry shrugs. 'Worth a shot, I suppose.'

~ ~ ~

'I think my match is smoking,' Ron announces miserably. Indeed, the match that he's been trying to wandlessly Transfigure into a needle for the last ten minutes has begun to emit wispy grey smoke.

'Mine snapped in half,' Harry informs him casually, holding up his decapitated matchstick.

Ron glances at it and grins. 'Well, at least we're all shit at this,' he says cheerfully.

Hermione makes a small noise and hurriedly tries to hide her perfect, silver needle.

'Well...' Ron says slowly after a moment. 'At least this is a useless Transfiguration, Harry. Even in your highly exciting life as a snake, I doubt you'll be sewing anything. Seeing as, y'know, you won't have thumbs. Or clothes. Or brains, probably.'

Hermione looks scandalised. Harry starts snorting with laughter. 'At least I've got brains now,' he retorts.

'That's true,' Ron says without missing a beat. 'You could always be Percy.'

~ ~ ~

'We should probably be trying to improve our wordless magic as well as our wandless magic,' Hermione informs them solemnly over the top of a very heavy, very intimidating stack of books.

' _Why?_ ' Ron asks, appalled. His expression makes it very clear that in his opinion, they've already suffered enough.

'Well,' Hermione says primly, giving Ron a slightly pointed look, 'when Harry is a snake, he might not have thumbs, but he won't have vocal chords either, will he?'

'Well...' Ron flounders. 'He can still hiss!'

Hermione gives him a flat look. 'Somehow, I imagine _hissing_ won't quite suffice, Ronald.'

Ron looks aggrieved for a moment before he has an epiphany. 'Yes it will!' he cries delightedly. 'Harry can just say the spells in Parseltongue!'

Harry blinks in surprise at his best friend's stroke of genius. He hasn't spoken Parseltongue in over a year - to be honest, he'd sort of forgotten about it, with everything else going on in his disaster of a life.

'Would that work?' Hermione asks Harry, looking rather curious.

'Uh,' Harry says, 'I don't know.' He thinks about it for a second. 'I've never actually tried to do magic with Parseltongue. It's always just sort of been... an accident.'

Hermione looks supremely unimpressed with this. 'Well then,' she says authoritatively, 'we'll just have to practice both.'

Ron muffles a curse, but nonetheless drops down onto the sofa to help.

~ ~ ~

'Tea,' Ron moans, 'I need tea. And some bloody biscuits!'

'Well then,' Hermione says grumpily, 'how about you try Summoning them?'

Ron reaches for his wand.

' _Wandlessly_ ,' Hermione says ruthlessly. 'And silently.'

Ron cringes, and then groans.

~ ~ ~

'This is torture!' Ron declares one evening, abandoning the kettle he's been trying to levitate and instead using Harry's practice cushion to bury his head in.

'Maybe you should take a break,' Harry offers sympathetically. He's got the beginnings of a headache forming in his temples.

Even Hermione looks tired, but she perseveres, fixing her gaze on the cushion Ron's face is mashed into and smiling when it rises off the ground without a word passing her lips, taking Ron's head with it.

Ron yelps and scrambles backwards. Then he realises that the cushion is not in fact suddenly sentient and gives Hermione a flat look instead.

'Congratulations, Hermione,' Ron says woefully, 'you've managed the world's first human-to-human Transfiguration. You've turned into Flitwick.'

Hermione grins. Then the cushion smacks Ron upside the head.

'Back to work!' she says cheerfully.

Ron gives the cushion a look of utter betrayal and misery. 'Or Snape,' he mutters, then ducks when the cushion zooms towards his head.

~ ~ ~

'Are Dark Ladies a thing?' Ron asks Harry quietly. On the other side of the room, Hermione is trying to light parchment on fire with her mind. So far, she's succeeding. 'I think Dark Ladies are a thing,' Ron continues decisively, just as a scrap of parchment turns into a fireball.

Hermione glances over at them and grins delightedly. Ron gulps.

'I think we should befriend all Dark Ladies,' Ron advises Harry under his breath, 'and obey their every command.' The fireball gets bigger. 'As a matter of survival.'

'All praise the Granger gods,' Harry agrees.

'Fear Her-Mioneness,' Ron says, then snorts. 'Never mind, that was terrible.'

'Just like your silent _Incendio_ ,' Hermione says, having overhead the last of their murmured conversation as she walks towards them. 'Come on, we haven't got time to waste.'

Harry turns his attention back to his own parchment. Several seconds and a lot of concentration later, it bursts into flame.

Ron wails. 'Aw man, come _on_! Not you too!' He stares up at the ceiling beseechingly. 'Why can't _I_ be a super powerful wonder wizard?'

'Well, Ronald,' Hermione says calmly, although her lips keep twitching upwards, 'Dark Ladies have to get their underlings from somewhere.'

Ron turns bright red.

~ ~ ~

Harry scowls at the feather in front of him, trying to levitate it with Parseltongue. So far, he hasn't been able to make it work.

'I think I might need a snake,' he says dejectedly, 'to trigger it, or something.'

'Hiss hiss,' Ron says. 'I'm a hissing hisser who hisses-'

Hermione whacks him.

~ ~ ~

'Wandless _and_ wordless magic?' McGonagall repeats, her eyebrows rising up her forehead. 'Whatever for, Miss Granger?'

Hermione pauses. 'Ah...' she says, glancing at Harry.

'Intellectual curiosity,' Ron announces casually.

McGonagall's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into lower orbit. ' _Intellectual curiosity?_ ' she repeats disbelievingly.

'Yes,' Ron says stubbornly.

McGonagall eyes them all suspiciously for a moment. 'Very well,' she agrees at last.

'We have some questions about Animagi as well,' Ron adds with absolutely no finesse or subtlety whatsoever.

McGonagall's eyebrows seem to momentarily disappear off her forehead altogether. 'Is that so, Mr Weasley?' she asks with deep suspicion etched into every word.

'Yes, Professor,' Hermione interrupts before Ron can open his mouth again. 'We're... very interested in animal Transfiguration.'

McGonagall narrows her eyes at Hermione, before switching her searching gaze to Harry, who has so far remained silent.

'And I don't suppose you're interested in repeating the actions of another Potter and his friends?' McGonagall asks sceptically.

'Hey, there's an idea!' Ron exclaims. Hermione stomps on his foot.

McGonagall's head whips around to pin Ron with another narrow-eyed look. He smiles innocently at her.

'Being an unregistered Animagus is illegal,' McGonagall reminds them pointedly.

'None of us are Animagi, Professor,' Hermione says reassuringly, then glances at Ron and rolls her eyes. ' _Yet_ ,' she adds under her breath.

'Hmm,' Professor McGonagall says warily. She runs her gaze over them all in silence for a moment, seeming especially distrustful of Harry - which, honestly, she has a point - before eventually acquiescing. 'Very well,' she says shortly. 'You may come in.'

The three of them troop silently into the Transfiguration classroom after the Headmistress.

'At least this can't be worse than the fireballs,' Ron whispers optimistically. Harry thinks of the poor, charred sofa and silently agrees.

~ ~ ~

'This is worse than the fireballs,' Ron says gloomily. He stares at Professor Sprout's greenhouse of fat, ugly Mandrakes with an expression of utter revulsion.

'It's not _that_ bad,' Hermione says reproachfully, already striding towards the nearest row of Mandrakes.

'One bit me once,' Ron says dramatically, then resigns himself to his fate. He sighs. 'Where are the gloves and earmuffs?' He glares at the Mandrakes. 'How are we supposed to get near enough to get a leaf without getting _eaten alive_?'

Behind them, McGonagall coughs.

'Honestly, Ronald,' Hermione huffs, although a sly smile has suddenly split across her face. She casts him a triumphant look. 'Are you a wizard or not?'

'What?' Ron asks, nonplussed.

Hermione doesn't bother to answer him. Instead she pins a look of fierce concentration on a Mandrake about a metre away from herself. For several seconds there is silence in the greenhouse, and then one of the leaves on the Mandrake abruptly separates from the rest of the plant.

'Was that a wandless, wordless _Diffindo_?' McGonagall asks, clearly surprised and impressed. 'And levitation?' she adds as the leaf floats through the air towards Hermione.

'Yes,' Hermione says proudly.

Ron looks like he can't decide whether to be proud of his girlfriend or totally peeved. In the end he seems to settle for some bizarre combination of both.

Once Ron has managed to perform a Severing Charm on a Mandrake - without causing it to scream, thankfully - he turns expectantly to Harry.

'Aren't you getting one too?' he asks, waiting for Harry to get his own leaf.

Harry blinks at him. 'Well, there's not really much point, is there?'

'Yes there is!' Ron argues enthusiastically. 'Maybe you could learn to switch into your Animagus form when you're a-'

Hermione's elbow drives so deep into Ron's gut that he actually lets out an ' _oof_ ' and doubles over slightly.

'What Ron is _trying_ to say,' Hermione says sweetly, 'is that it might provide some variation and choice to your life in the future.' She gives Harry a worried look. 'Almost like a sense of control,' she adds quietly.

McGonagall is watching them all very carefully. She clearly suspects - probably _knows_ \- that something is up; she just doesn't know _what_.

'But Hermione,' Harry says anxiously, 'what if my Animagus form is a...' _snake._

'It won't be,' Hermione says quickly. 'Animagi forms represent your true self.'

McGonagall nods in agreement. 'The form of an Animagus is determined by a person's personality, qualities and traits, and what they value most.'

Harry swallows nervously. 'But...' He clenches and unclenches his hands. 'That doesn't prove anything,' he says. 'I could still be a...'

'Mate, you'll be a deer or something,' Ron says reassuringly. 'Just like your Patronus.'

McGonagall seems to realise that there's more going on here than she is aware of, but she nonetheless joins in on Ron and Hermione's attempts to comfort Harry. 'Animagi and Patroni are similar or identical in many cases,' she agrees.

'Many,' Harry says, 'but not all?'

McGonagall pauses. 'Well, Patroni can change, whereas an Animagus form is permanent,' she says hesitantly, 'and there are cases where witches and wizards have two different animals.'

Great. Just great.

Harry glances at the Mandrakes, then down at his hands, which are gloved despite it being the middle of June.

'It's worth a shot,' Ron says encouragingly. 'If you get an Animagus form which... isn't a deer, you don't have to use it.'

'If you are concerned, Mr Potter,' McGonagall adds cautiously, 'it is considered impossible to become a Dementor Animagi, or any other extremely Dark creature.'

 _Considered_ impossible? That sounds a whole lot different than _proven_ impossible.

'Is it possible to have an Animagus that is a... magical animal?' Hermione asks apprehensively.

'Yes,' McGonagall replies, frowning mildly, 'although it is much more uncommon.'

'What about... a _Dark_ magical animal?' Hermione asks, biting her lower lip and glancing nervously at Harry.

Harry fights back thoughts of Nagini and blood and-

McGonagall hesitates, sweeping her eyes over all three of them. 'It's possible,' she says at last, 'but exceedingly rare.'

Harry slumps. Great. He's doomed. Potter luck dictates that he'll be stuck as a filthy great big snake for life.

"Exceedingly rare" is practically a requirement of Harry's life at this point. As if "World's First Human Horcrux" isn't bad enough, now he's a Maledictus and The Boy Who Lived Twice.

McGonagall fixes her intelligent eyes on Harry. 'Only a very Dark individual would ever have a Dark Animagus,' she says. 'They would have to be on a level of depravity similar to Voldemort himself.'

 _Well,_ Harry thinks moodily, _I did carry part of his soul around for nearly 17 years. That's probably left a mark._

'You'll be fine, Harry,' Hermione says encouragingly. She holds out her hand and another Mandrake leaf is cut off from the main plant and floats into her outstretched palm. She offers the leaf to Harry.

'Hermione,' Harry says slowly, staring at the leaf, another problem occurring to him, 'we have to keep these in our mouths for a _month_ , right?' He looks at her pointedly. 'An entire _month_.'

_I'll be a snake for at least half of that. What the hell is going to happen to the leaf when I transform?_

'Oh,' Ron says.

'As long as you don't swallow it when... I'm sure it won't affect it,' Hermione says with her usual determination. 'I'll cast a Sticking Charm on it to keep it to the roof of your mouth.'

Ron looks sceptically at the large green leaves. 'Will it even _fit_?' he asks doubtfully. Harry is wondering the same thing. Snakes don't exactly have the same anatomy as humans - their heads and mouths are definitely smaller.

'We can fold the leaf up,' Hermione says confidently. She glances at McGonagall. 'That won't affect the spell, will it?'

But McGonagall isn't paying any attention to their conversation. Instead she's staring at Harry in bleak horror.

'Oh, _Harry_ ,' she whispers, horrified. One hand flies to her mouth.

'What?' Harry asks warily. She can't have figured out that he's a Maledictus _already_ , surely.

'Were you bitten by Fenrir Greyback too?' McGonagall asks in a shaky voice.

It takes Harry a second to latch on to McGonagall's train of thought. 'Oh,' he says, taken aback, 'no. No, Professor, I'm not a werewolf.'

Relief and suspicion are warring on McGonagall's face. 'But something happened to you,' she says shortly, her eyes filled with worry. She instantly begins scrutinising him from head to toe, staring at his gloves, scarf and long sleeved jacket.

Harry glances at Ron, who looks startled, and Hermione, who is frowning.

'If you need to see Madam Pomfrey...' McGonagall says slowly.

'Oh, no, no thanks,' Harry declines awkwardly. 'I, um... I've already seen her. And, um, Healers. At St. Mungo's.'

McGonagall is definitely concerned now. 'Already seen her? But when...' She momentarily closes her eyes. 'The Battle.'

'Yes,' Harry confirms quietly.

'Bellatrix's curse?' McGonagall guesses shrewdly.

Harry nods silently. They don't speak much after that.

McGonagall never asks what the curse is - if the way she stares at the Mandrake leaves in Hermione's hands, and then glances at Harry's dark eyes before her face crumples is any indication, she's already figured it out.

~ ~ ~

Harry transforms again two days later. He spends a day curled up under his bed, depressed and forlorn, before Hermione's face suddenly appears in his vision.

'Come on Harry,' she says gently, 'we've got to practice spell-casting in Parseltongue! And see if you're capable of wandless magic in snake form!'

'Yeah mate!' Ron's loud voice declares from somewhere above Harry. 'No slacking off!'

Reluctantly, Harry slithers out from under the bed.

Hermione hesitantly reaches out to stroke his scales. 'You're freezing, Harry!' she chastises lightly. 'Come on, let's get you in front of the fire with some ham.'

Feeling marginally better, Harry follows.

~ ~ ~

'Ronald! Stop chewing your Mandrake leaf!'

~ ~ ~

Eight days later, Harry is curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a large blanket and human once more.

There are patches of scales all around his neck and the edges of his jaw.

'At least the Mandrake leaf stayed in place,' he sighs dejectedly, staring at the fire.

'Did you feel any... animal instincts?' Hermione asks cautiously, a large book about blood curses resting across her lap. She'd found it in the Black family library. 'Whilst you were... transformed?'

'No,' Harry says quietly, 'just bloody cold.'

'That's probably because your species is indigenous to Australia and adapted for much hotter climates,' Hermione says, as rain pounds the windows despite it being late June. 'We'll have to work on your wandless warming charms.'

'But we'll be able to help with that,' Ron says kindly, glancing at Hermione, 'so don't worry if you can't get it to work perfectly.'

'What do you mean?' Harry asks in confusion.

'Well, once you've... transformed completely...' Ron begins awkwardly, 'you'll be staying with us. Right?'

Harry blinks at him.

'We're hardly going to throw you out in the cold to fend for yourself!' Ron says indignantly.

'I... hadn't really thought about it,' Harry says honestly. He's been entirely focused on the fast-approaching moment when he will finally lose himself forever - not what comes after.

'Well, you can stay with us,' Hermione says firmly.

'And if anyone asks, we'll just say you're a pet from Hagrid, or something,' Ron adds.

'But if I lose my self awareness...' Harry says warily, 'I might try to attack you.'

Ron swallows. 'We'll... deal with one thing at a time.'

Harry gives him an unimpressed look. 'I don't want to hurt you,' he says softly.

'You won't, Harry!' Hermione says quickly, her face creased with concern. 'So far you've shown no signs of losing any of your humanity. I know you said your brain will eventually change, and you're right, but... your magic won't. And... and your soul won't.'

'My _soul_?' Harry repeats sceptically.

'Well, that's what Dementors suck out of people, isn't it?' Hermione retorts stubbornly. 'You saw it nearly happen to... in third year. And once people's souls are sucked out, it's like they've been completely Obliviated, isn't it? They're just sort of... gone. So it makes sense that your sense of self will be maintained as long as you still have your soul.'

Ron nods enthusiastically. 'Yeah.'

'I don't think that's how it works,' Harry says dubiously, but he can already feel a traitorous tendril of hope curling within his chest and flickering to life. He stomps it back down.

'But you don't _know_ how it works,' Hermione argues, 'so it's possible.'

 _Denial_ , Harry thinks, _is a poison we willingly drink._

'Look,' Harry sighs, 'please just... don't give me false hope, okay?'

Hermione's determined expression crumbles. She looks heartbroken.

'You'll be alright, Harry,' she says softly.

'Maybe,' Harry replies tiredly.

~ ~ ~

' _Amato Animo Animato Animagus_.'

~ ~ ~

Harry starts to feel an itch under his skin. He transforms more and more frequently - the only time the itch subsides - and his human physiology becomes more and more warped.

He looks like a freak.

Harry stops leaving the house at all, which Hermione soon declares is very unhealthy. Harry isn't impressed - it's not like he's got to worry about living a long and healthy life now - but Hermione and Ron nonetheless spend days convincing him to pack up a few of his favourite things and move to the Burrow with them.

Harry stays on the top floor - the ghoul is thankfully relocated - and the other Weasleys are forbidden from visiting Harry without permission. Both Ginny and George try to break this rule, but Hermione and Ron yell so loudly at them they nearly go deaf. There are no second attempts.

Seven days before Harry's nineteenth birthday, the itching becomes close to unbearable. His entire body feels like a live wire, and he hates it.

When Hermione visits St Mungo's to ask about his latest symptom, she comes back red-eyed and ashen.

'The Healers think... it'll happen soon,' she says in a wobbly voice.

Harry tries to breathe normally. It's very difficult, given the sudden crushing sensation in his chest.

'I'm so sorry, Harry!' Hermione suddenly exclaims, tears running down her face. 'I should have found a cure for you.'

'Hermione! _No_ ,' Harry says, horrified. 'This isn't your fault!'

'But if I'd been hit instead of you-'

'No,' Harry interrupts firmly. 'It was my choice to step in front of you.' He meets her gaze steadfastly. 'And I don't regret it.'

He's surprised to find that it's the truth. Despite how horrible this has all been, Harry would much rather this happen to him than one of his best friends, who he now considers family.

It's what James knew, and what Lily knew, and Harry now knows: some things are worth more than your life. Family is one of them.

Hermione cries, and Harry's arms come up around her automatically, and hold her.

~ ~ ~

Harry writes goodbye letters, because he can't bear the thought of doing it face-to-face.

It's hard.

~ ~ ~

Arrangements are made for after Harry's "death". The public will be told that he died as a result of injuries sustained during the war, and nothing else. Harry doesn't want anyone outside of those he considers family knowing about the curse, and he certainly doesn't want reporters or obsessive fans trying to track him down as a snake. He'll be much more vulnerable without the ability to wield a wand, and the last thing anybody needs is Harry being kidnapped.

Although, as Ron points out: Harry could always just bite the buggers. He's poisonous now, apparently.

'D'you reckon if we turned Malfoy into a ferret again...' Ron begins hopefully over dinner the next evening.

' _No_ ,' Hermione says firmly, but her lips quirk slightly. Harry grins at her with teeth that are marginally more pointed than they used to be. He rather likes the idea of poisoning Ferret Malfoy.

'Oh, stop it,' Hermione huffs, a smile breaking across her face against her will. 'You two are _insufferable_.'

~ ~ ~

Hermione cries when she reads the letter Harry wrote her. So does Ron.

So does Harry.

He isn't ready to lose this.

~ ~ ~

Harry asks Charlie, Bill and Fleur to be there, at the end. Charlie has the most experience with dangerous magical animals, and Fleur knows Defensive magic, including a handful of things that weren't on the Hogwarts curriculum.

Bill is there as his backup plan; a desperate last resort.

Harry takes Bill aside the day before it all happens, leading him out into the gardens away from the hustle and bustle of the Burrow. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and then looks Bill in the eye.

'If things start to go wrong, and I'm not myself anymore, I need you to kill me,' Harry says bluntly. 'You can't let me attack anyone.'

Bill stares at him in shock for a moment. As the Weasley Harry is least familiar with, he's not sure how he'll take Harry's morbid request. Hopefully he'll understand.

'Hermione and Ron won't do anything,' Harry continues when Bill is silent. 'They couldn't bring themselves to hurt me. But I might not be _me_ anymore, so I need to know that someone will keep them safe. And Hermione thinks I might be resistant to Stunners because of my scales and magical creature blood. So... alternatives will have to be used.'

Bill looks away, crossing his arms and staring at the distant horizon. He looks uncomfortable, but he seems to at least be considering it. He hasn't outright refused, anyway.

'Alright,' Bill says at last, with great reluctance.

'Really?' Harry asks, surprised. He expected more resistance.

'I understand,' Bill admits quietly. 'I've been there.'

Harry's eyes are automatically drawn to the scars marring Bill's face, remembering that he's now a werewolf. Of _course_ Bill understands. He knows exactly what it's like to lose control.

'I didn't want Fleur to become an Animagus,' Bill says into the quiet between them. 'I didn't want her anywhere near me, at first.' He looks away again, eyes gazing at memories Harry can't see as he stares, unseeing, into the distance.

Eventually, he comes back to himself, and turns to Harry once more.

'Ron and Hermione love you,' Bill says plainly, as if merely stating facts. Perhaps he is. 'Love can be a powerful thing. It certainly saved me last year.' He pauses and sighs. 'But it can be a dangerous thing too. Love can blind people to dangers that are right in front of them, especially when they're in denial.' He looks back at the Burrow, and then at Harry once more. 'I'll look after them,' he promises.

Harry feels a deep swell of gratitude. 'Thank you.'

Bill nods, and together they walk back home in silence, to the people that love them so much they can no longer see their flaws.

~ ~ ~

Harry wakes early the next morning, the itching under his skin morphing into a horrid burning.

He Apparates to Hermione, uncaring of the time or the fact that everyone in the house is asleep. He shakes her awake urgently, panic beginning to crawl up his spine.

'Harry?' Hermione asks blearily, blinking her eyes open.

'It's happening,' Harry says frantically. 'I can feel it, it's happening.'

Hermione turns white.

~ ~ ~

'I love you,' Hermione whispers desperately in his ear as she holds him for the last time. 'Never forget that, okay? I love you, Harry.' She's shaking. 'Your friendship... your friendship meant everything to me. Thank you for being my friend.'

'Thank you for everything,' Harry says shakily, 'I wouldn't have passed Herbology without you.'

Hermione laughs, even as she cries.

'I love you too,' he says fiercely. 'You're my family.'

Hermione holds him tighter.

~ ~ ~

'You were my first friend,' Harry tells Ron gruffly. Ron is fighting back tears.

'You were my best,' Ron replies in a choked voice, and then he's pulling Harry into a hug so tight Harry can feel the tremors running through Ron's body.

'You too,' Harry whispers, and closes his eyes when the tears start to spill.

~ ~ ~

Harry leaves his glasses and wand on his bedside table, on top of his will.

His heart pounds as he descends the stairs of the Burrow for the last time, like it's trying to fulfil a lifetime of beats in the short time it has left.

But this time Harry isn't walking into the Forest alone. Hermione and Ron grip his hands tightly, lending him their courage and strength as they step out of the Burrow under the mournful watch of the other Weasleys.

But eventually they have to let go.

Harry steps into the circle drawn on the ground alone.

'Hey, Ron?' Harry asks over the loud thumping of his heart.

'Yeah?' Ron answers, trying valiantly to keep his voice steady and calm. He and Hermione take up their positions alongside Fleur, Charlie and Bill around the circle.

'You know that thing you asked me about in Grimmauld Place?' Harry asks, his eyes locked on the magical barrier Charlie and Bill are constructing with their wands. The circle drawn into the ground shimmers and turns white.

'Yeah?' Ron asks uncertainly.

Harry manages to drag his eyes away from the barrier and look at his best friend. The burning under his skin feels like Fiendfyre.

'You should do it,' Harry says firmly.

Ron smiles slightly, looking both devastated and happy. 'Yeah.'

'Some things are more important than anything else,' Harry says, as he feels the burning turn to a blaze that rips through his veins, 'like family.'

Harry can see his own panic reflected in Ron's face.

'Mate, I'll look after you, okay?' Ron says frantically, as scales begin to spread across Harry's neck and the edges of his face. 'I'll make sure you have a good life.'

Harry gives his best friend one last smile, even as his torso starts to contort. He falls to his knees.

'You already have,' he says, glancing at Hermione, who is crying, before focusing back on Ron. 'You already have,' he repeats, and then his throat squeezes and he can't talk anymore.

~ ~ ~

For a second, Harry falls into an abyss. It's dark and all-consuming and terrifying, and he doesn't think he'll ever escape its clutches.

But then he emerges.

~ ~ ~

The snake jolts, startling into consciousness abruptly. He hears voices, distantly, but it takes a moment to understand them.

'...think he's okay?'

'Oh, god.'

'No! Don't cross the barrier!'

'I need to make sure he's alright!'

'Charlie and I will check him. You two _stay there_. Fleur, please make sure they don't move.'

The sound of footsteps - someone crying - muttered spells - a sharp intake of breath.

'Charlie?'

'The diagnostic spell says he's completely Transfigured,' a low voice murmurs. 'He's a snake now, albeit a magical one.'

'Alright,' another male voice says gruffly. 'We need to be careful.'

'Don't make any sudden moves. If we startle him, he'll probably attack.'

'What do we do? ...Is he supposed to be this _big_?'

'Well, normal red-bellied black snakes can grow up to two, maybe two and a half metres, and magical snakes are always bigger than Muggle snakes, so... we're probably lucky he's not ten metres, really.'

'He's at least three. How do we subdue him? A net?'

'You're not putting a bloody net on him!'

'Ron, we need to make sure he doesn't attack anyone. He's poisonous.'

'He's still a _person_!'

There's a painful pause.

'We don't know that yet.'

Harry finally finds the strength to blink his eyes open and raise his head. He feels dizzy and drained, and like his thoughts are swimming through thick honey. There's a gasp, and when Harry looks towards the sound he sees three people: two women and a man. One woman has a tight grip on the arms of the other two.

Harry freezes.

For a second he doesn't know what's going on, except that he's facing three humans, and humans are _dangerous_ , and he needs to get away. Then the sound of feet shuffling backwards makes him whip around to see two more men, pointing wands at him.

_Wands?_

'Don't hurt him!' someone shouts shrilly.

'Hermione, we have to take precautions,' one of the men says, and everything suddenly clicks into place.

Hermione.

_I love you, Harry._

**Hermione!**

Harry shoots up, euphoric that he's somehow managed to keep his self-awareness and memory. He instantly realises that this was a mistake when Charlie swears and takes several steps backwards, and Bill aims his wand directly at Harry's head.

'Nobody. Move.' Charlie says lowly, his voice tense. All four Weasleys and Hermione have frozen.

'Please don't hurt him,' Hermione whispers, and Harry realises he was right to ask Bill and Charlie to be here. Neither Ron nor Hermione have even drawn their wands, despite the potential danger right in front of them.

'Fleur, Ron, Hermione,' Charlie says quietly, his eyes trained on Harry, 'I want you to walk around the circle and stand behind us. _Slowly_. We need to give the snake an escape route or it'll feel trapped.'

 _The snake_.

Harry lowers his head slightly, his long, smooth body coiling around itself, trying to make himself seem as small and non-threatening as possible. His tongue flickers out, scenting the air, and he realises he can smell their fear and stress. Whatever chemicals or hormones are being pumped through his friends' bodies, he can almost _taste_ them in the air.

Tasting their fear makes him feel sick and ashamed.

Harry curls up until he's practically a ball of black and red scales, his tongue flickering out anxiously.

'Charlie, look,' Bill says in surprise, despite the fact that Charlie is already looking at Harry.

'He's watching us,' Charlie comments, sounding taken aback. Charlie crouches down until he is almost at eye level with Harry - although he maintains a tight grip on his wand - and meets Harry's gaze.

'Harry?' he asks cautiously, hope creeping into his voice. 'Can you understand me?'

Harry raises his head from where it is resting against his scales, making Charlie tense up, and nods twice.

'Mon Dieu!' Fleur whispers.

'Harry!' Ron exclaims, his voice rough with relief, and pulls free of Fleur's tight hold. He runs carelessly through the one-way barrier towards Harry, until he is stopped by Bill's hands on his chest.

' _Wait_ ,' Bill says urgently. 'Just wait for two seconds, _please_.'

Ron looks ready to argue with his older brother, but is distracted by Hermione coming up behind him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

'Harry,' Charlie says, drawing Harry's attention away from his best friends, 'I need you to blink twice if you understand me.'

Harry obediently blinks twice.

Charlie blows out a breath. 'Okay, that's good. Now, are you feeling any animal instincts or urges?'

Harry shakes his head.

'None at all?' Charlie asks, taken aback. 'Not even to find food or shelter, or to thermoregulate?'

Harry pauses, uncertain how to silently explain that yes, his body wants him to thermoregulate, but it's similar to hunger: he can choose whether or not to respond to those signals from his body. Eventually he settles on shaking his head again.

'Okay. So you've still got complete control of your mind? You're still aware and fully conscious?'

Harry nods.

Charlie fixes Harry with a serious look. 'Are you a danger to us?'

Harry immediately shakes his head.

'Of course he's not!' Ron says loudly, offended.

'I had to make sure, Ron,' Charlie replies calmly. He glances at Bill. 'I think he's okay.'

Bill smiles, looking massively relieved. 'Thank Merlin.'

' _Dans la nomme de Morgana_ ,' Fleur whispers shakily.

'We're okay,' Hermione says quietly, as if reassuring herself as well as everyone else, 'we're all okay.'

And so begins Harry's life as a snake.

~ ~ ~

Harry lives with Ron and Hermione for the next eight years. It is as close to perfect as Harry will ever get. They all learn to become Animagi: Harry a stag, Ron a dog, Hermione an otter. Hermione develops a newfound love for swimming; Harry occasionally joins her underwater in his snake form. Ron swears up and down he doesn't like playing fetch, even though he is caught red-handed playing just that more than once with Teddy.

Ron and Hermione get married. Harry learns how to safely cast _Reducio_ on himself and spends most of the wedding riding around on Charlie Weasley's person, both in his pockets and around his neck. Nobody notices the tiny little snake that sneaks in.

Harry's "death" is met with public outcry. Several statues are erected in his honour, and he gets a ward in St Mungo's named after him. There is a memorial ceremony, of course, which the entire Ministry attends whilst trying to brush their awful past treatment of Harry under the rug. Ron enjoys poking fun at some of the more pretentious Ministry officials, casually bringing up Harry's brief stint as Undesirable Number One and the entire fiasco with Umbridge. Every official declares with great solemnity that _they_ would not have renounced the Saviour so; _they_ would have believed Harry's claims about Voldemort's return.

Fudge and Umbridge are not very popular people after that particular event. Thanks to Ron, their political careers are over.

Harry's grave is on the grounds of Hogwarts, next to Dumbledore's, and is admittedly rather nice, if a little over the top. The gravestone reads:

_Harry Potter_

_31/07/1980 - 27/07/1999_

_Here lies The Boy Who Lived, who died to save us all. May his bravery and his sacrifice, made thrice, always be remembered._

There is a plaque in the middle of the grounds, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, engraved with a poem written by a student.

_The Boy Who Lived_  
_The Man Who Died_  
_Let us all hope to be_  
_Like the Lion Who Tried_  
_The Boy Who Lived_  
_Gave his life for our own_  
_Let him always be remembered_  
_May his soul never walk alone_

Hermione shows him his other grave: a much simpler headstone, beside his parents' in Godric's Hollow.

_Harry James Potter_

_31st July 1980 - 27th July 1999_

_He will be remembered by his family as a loving son, friend and godfather._

_Little light, keep shining on._

Someone has laid an Everlasting Wreath beside his grave. The note attached simply reads:

_Thank you for being a light for us all. I am so grateful every day that I am finally free of that darkness._

_My life is so beautiful now. Thank you._

_\- D_

This is why it is worth it. The pain, the suffering, the sheer unfairness of it all - every day that Harry has wished he could just give up on everything - are all worth it, because now these people are free.

They're happy, even if Harry sometimes isn't. And that's a price worth paying.

There's another wreath, this one made of magical lilies, with a simple note attached:

_Here lies a brave man._

_~ ~ ~_

Harry didn't think before he doomed himself. He just did it.

He still doesn't regret it.

The gentle quiet of his home is soft and undisturbed around him. On the sofa, Hermione is sprawled out, an open book draped across her chest and her eyes shut, silent in sleep. From the kitchen, Harry can hear the faint rustling and chopping of Ron making dinner.

Stretched along the wall, interrupted only by the doorway, is a meandering line of metal frames: a collection of colourful, carefully hung photographs. They tell a story, laid out like a timeline of their lives: a trio of young, innocent, widely smiling faces in Hogwarts uniforms; Ron and Harry zipping through the air on brooms, chased by the twins and Ginny; the entire Weasley family, Harry and Hermione included, all crammed together in a pile of smiles and cheers and tight, one-armed hugs. The DA stands proud and tall next to a waving form of Hagrid, Fang laying at his feet and Harry grinning at his side.

Time moves on, then, and Hermione walks down an aisle in a white dress, clutching flowers and trying not to cry. Another, of the wedding reception: a hundred people squished into one moment, all laughing and beaming at the camera. Above that shot is Ron and Hermione exchanging rings; beside it is Molly smiling through her tears.

Charlie Weasley sneaks into a surprisingly large amount of the photographs. From between his curls, or behind his ear, or beneath the collar of his fancy robes, the slim head of a snake appears, dipping in and out of sight.

One of the crowning photographs is Ron and Hermione in their wedding finery with a large snake draped across their shoulders, right before they'd gone off on their honeymoon.

It always baffles visitors, and the Daily Prophet had certainly gotten a lot of speculation out of it. But perhaps if confused strangers and perplexed guests merely looked at the next photograph, hung with a frame made of silver and gold, then they might understand.

A stag leaps into view, tall and strong in the moonlight. Clinging to its antlers is a sleek otter, and chasing it is a dog, tail wagging excitedly. A small wolf cub comes tearing into the frame, leaping about wildly, and gets an affectionate headbutt from the Jack Russell terrier and a forehead lick from the stag.

The four animals settle in the grass, the large stag acting as a pillow for the others, who all curl up against his belly in a warm pile. Soon, the wolf, dog and otter are dozing, but the stag's head remains lifted, gazing at his three companions with quiet, tender love, a protector watching over them.

Harry glances back at Hermione, who is still adrift in her dreams. The flames of the fire crackle softly, and everything is warm and quiet and safe.

He may have lost a lot in his life - his innocence, his loved ones, his familiar skin; at times even himself - but Harry no longer mourns their loss in the deep, desolate way he once did. Now, just like his home and his head, that grief is quiet, and easily put to rights, and to rest.

The evening slips ever onwards, and Harry remains curled in the blankets spread across the sofa, a slim snake tucked into the folds of his best friends' lives and love and squishiest cushions. His tail flicks out and gently wraps around Hermione's ankle automatically. When her skin cools, he painstakingly drags a blanket over her gently slumbering form. No matter how long she sleeps, or how many more years she lives, Harry will still be here, patient and unwavering, guarding her, and the small soul flickering to life in her belly.

Harry has lost a lot in his short, spectacular journey through time and life and war - but he has found other things, too. They fill the gaps left in his heart and smooth out his roughest edges.

No matter what the papers say, the best thing Harry ever did was love. And in turn, the best thing he has ever found is this, right here:

Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be the first chapter of a much longer story about Harry’s life as a Maledictus/magical snake. However, my muse is a disloyal hoe and ran off with another story, leaving me to pick up the pieces of this mess.
> 
> I decided that since it was unlikely I would ever sit down and actually write the rest of it, I might as well wrangle together a more conclusive ending for this and stick it up as an independent story.
> 
> Hopefully it was still enjoyable as a stand-alone piece?
> 
> Who knows, I might come back one day and continue this... but it won’t be in the near future, at least. I have other stories I’m working on and want to finish first.
> 
> Oh, and “D” was actually supposed to be Daphne Greengrass, but I realised that some readers might interpret the initial as Draco Malfoy and want it to be him, and I decided screw it, if that’s what people want to imagine then they can go for it!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, you might like my other story, The Potions and Promises of the Half-Blood Prince: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487944
> 
> Summary:
> 
>   
>  _The Ministry of Magic has a fantastic idea, like it always does:_
> 
> _The Eternal Entwining Festival._
> 
> _Not only has it got a stupid name, the ridiculous courting festival is about to create a lot of trouble for Harry Problems Potter, who just wants to keep his head down and pass his NEWTs. The last thing he needs is people sending him love letters in the mail - and whatʼs this about bloody ribbons round his wrist?_


End file.
